


Memory

by ScarletDSpade



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Adventure, Canon Related, Childhood, Drama, Family, Friendship, Gen, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, Psychological Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9451925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletDSpade/pseuds/ScarletDSpade
Summary: In the middle of the 19th century, war is as common as breath. Nations, states, people; every day in constant struggle. Living in this environment, Giotto knew he should have been as indifferent as other people, but he couldn't. In a dominated Sicily, at the beginning of the Mafia, his desire appeared: to be able to protect. This is the story of the founding of Vongola.





	1. Preface

If he looked closely, he could see the interesting mix of cultures that was beginning to seep into view. This, unwittingly, caused a strange pang in his stomach. It was not displeasure or nuisance, as other eyes revealed; it was rather a feeling of nostalgia, of pain that even if he tried could not remove it.

How many times had he asked himself about it? How many sleepless nights had he spent bitterly remembering what had happened in the end?

Regretful for not having been able to keep everyone together.

For the mistakes he had made.

For having failed everyone who had trusted him.

Had he done the right thing in abandoning everything? In leaving the country and start in another as if nothing had happened?

Another pang, an emotional wound that reopened a little. He knew that no matter how much time passed, it would never heal completely.

“Sawada-san?” He did a little jump; the sudden voice broke into his thoughts and pulled him back to reality “Are you ok? You don't have a good face”

“Nothing special, it’s just a little stomachache. It will pass.” He answered “I appreciate your concern” The man looked at him a moment before nodding his head, saying goodbye with a courtly bow and walking back toward his own home.

He sighed.

He had not even noticed the presence of this acquaintance until he had spoken and he supposed that was a little impolite on his part.

“ _Otosan_ , _otosan!”_ changing the grin of fatigue to a warm smile almost instantly, he turned to the entrance of his home and saw a small child with blond hair running excitedly towards him.

“ _Yoshimune (1),_ why are you still awake?”  He asked, containing a laugh at the big hug that his son gave him “Shouldn’t you be already asleep?”

“ _Okasan_ said it was ok” the little boy replied, breaking the contact and looking at his father with sparkling eyes and an enthusiastic expression “That means that tonight you can tell me who they are!”

It felt like a bucket of cold water that suddenly, has thrown out without warning. He had hoped to at least, have the night to think what he was going to say.

Now that was not possible.

“ _Aki (2), dear._ _Did you have to give him permission to sleep late today?”_  He thought to himself.

“ _Otosan?”_   The child said doubtfully, not liking the sudden change on his father’s face when he mentioned _that._ “Are you alright?”

“Are you sure you want to hear it now?” Without an answer at his son’s question, he replied with other query “The story is very long and…“

“I doesn’t matter if takes all night!” the child interrupted with excitedly "Of course it’s an amazing story, all of them look very cool!"

There he was, without escape. Even less with the child’s hopeful eyes begging to tell him who the people in the photo of his pocket watch were, what was the meaning of the legend " _Grivro eterna amicizia_ " marked on the clock behind the picture, what was the shield that stood at the top and why the hands of the clock had stopped at the time 12:04.

Against his nature, he cursed under his breath the moment when Yoshimune had found him observing the clock with a strange smile and look (the child's own words, though he would define it rather as great longing and melancholy). He regretted that the boy had managed to see the photo and that he very naively agreed to give it to him for a small glance on the condition that he was extremely cautious with the device.

The bad thing was he still did not feel the courage to tell him everything. Perhaps he could tell him about the first encounters without any problem and even laugh at the jokes, but he was not sure he could talk about the last chapters of his story without breaking down.

However, he had promised it to his son and after so many promise he had broken, he did not want to add another to the list, however small it was.

At least, he would always continue to honor and fulfill the oath recorded in his small precious pocket watch.

So, Ieyasu Sawada, better known in Italy as Giotto Vongola, had to remember the most decisive, precious and now painful moments of his life.

* * *

 

Rebellions here and there, secret societies, conflicts and invasion.

Dead here, dead there.

The world was in chaos and anarchy, battles every day with abuse and poverty of the lower class. No matter how much "nationalist sentiment" it had, or how much efforts were made, it seemed the misery would not end, and indeed stormy waves continuously came in the form of despair to the needy.

It was in those moments when a child observed the misfortune around and his heart shrank; looked imploringly his grandmother, asking with his eyes if was something they could do to help the people. She always shook her head and requested him to keep walking.

People, get used to their environment, everyone said. That after a time everything that happens looks normal and daily, although such events or actions may mean something cruel or even bizarre to eyes more knowledgeable. Nevertheless, Giotto, who lived most of his childhood surrounded by evil, never managed to get over them but the opposite; a flame burning to help others grew inside his soul every day.

That small flame had been the beginning of everything.

It would grow so powerful and strong in a family that would be the number one in the world, but it founded with the innocent yearning to bring help to others. This had been the beginning of the Vongola Family.

* * *

 

_(1) Sawada Yoshimune: This is the name of Giotto’s son when the family tree is shown._   
_(2) Aki in Japanese means “autumn”; I think it is a pretty name for Giotto’s wife._

_Ciao everyone! First, I would like to thank you for reading this short prologue story._   
_What can I say? I love the first generation with all my being and their story is very interesting in my point of view (and heartbreaking, as far as I am concerned). It is a pity that Amano did not give us more of them in the manga, lucky there is the saga of inheritance in the anime._   
_This prologue is small, just an introduction to the story, but do not worry. I like chapters long enough to satisfy the interest without dry eyes. In addition, I wanted to put some of Giotto after leaving Italy and his life in Japan._   
_Let me finish with a gratitude and, if you see something is wrong writing, please feel free to correct it._   
_See you next chapter!_   
_Atte. ScarletDSpade_


	2. Chapter I: “Questo stato é Sicilia”

**_Chapter I:_ **

**_“Questo stato é Sicilia”_ **

**_Sicily; Palermo, 1859_ **

_"This world is cruel, abusive and lonely, my dear"_

It was.

He knew it. He knew it since the beginning. Only that he barely noticed clearly without the protection those warm arms had given him.

_“But, you know? I still have the hope that the world can change. The darkness can't reign forever, don't you think?”_

He wanted to believe it too, he wished to believe that the world could be a better place. However, in moments like that when he was running on the street, searching a place to cover him of the downpours of the heavy rain, he wasn´t sure of holding much hope as he would please.

_“So, promise me you'll fight. You'll fight for continue living and you'll never surrender”_

The rain good part it was if you cried in it, your tears mingle with the raindrops falling from the sky. The only difference was that the water dripped from your cheeks was warm and water from above was not, but it was something that only you could notice.

_“I love you so much, Giotto. Don't forget that.”_

If only the rain could also wash the feeling of pain, gnawed him from the depths of his soul.

_“Sorry to have to leave you alone.”_

If only, he can disappear the anguish and despair gripped him.

But he could not, as neither he could not turn back the time so that _Nonna_ (1) could open his eyes again, or see his parent’s alive one more time, or remember his little brother’s face. Nor could he ever do anything to change the situation.

The same scenarios, the same cries, the same exploiters and the same ones exploited. Everything would remain alike.

At the end, tired and dejected, he dropped to the ground, leaning against the wall of what would be the beginning of a small street where no one would pass unless that person wanted to shorten the path to a particular destination. He did not care that he had nowhere to cover himself; after all, he was too wet to make a difference. And he was sleepy, his eyes were about to close and he couldn’t help it; nor the cold rain kept him awake, although it was to be expected if he took into account he had not slept in one day and the next he ran without rest. Trying to fight against the fatigue, as he did not want to fall asleep on a street in Sicily, the great, cruel and still feudal Sicily, he looked up at the gray clouds of the sky, wondering if _Nonna_ would be up there in those moments as he had heard it happen when one dies.

Would she be happy to meet with Mom and Dad? With her husband who died years ago? Would she be laughing and enjoying the company he had loose?

Then he thought, with fear but with a stranger awareness of his present state. What was to become of him?

The kindness of its inhabitants had never been characterized Sicily, at least not of those who had sufficient resources to survive. He couldn’t go to an estate or fertile land to work, he was still very young and no one would bother hiring him; and be in any of those places ensured that their situation was going to improve, maybe even just make it worse. He did not like steal, he did not want take away from people what they earned. He had no special ability characterize him to considerate asking help to some aristocrat in exchange of "talent," as it usually happened at the beginning of the "Renaissance" (or at least he had heard that it was common, it wasn’t that in his short life he would have witnessed something like that).

 _"I'm surprised you're still alive, useless. I suppose it's true that the bad grass never dies."_ Sometimes he too was surprised to stay alive. Especially, after all the amount of kicking, punching and hitting he was accustomed to receiving. He once told her grandmother that he was "invincible", and she responded only with a sad expression.

Now, he did not have his grandmother at his side. Now, everything relapsed on him.

Moreover, for him, only try to survive remain. Somehow, he promised he would. He had given his word to Nonna that surrendering was not going to be in his current or future plans. Of course, if a 7-year-old boy like him who was without any living relative and with debts to pay to the collectors still possessed future.

With those lugubrious thoughts on mind, Giotto fell asleep in the rain.

* * *

 

_Everything he saw was white. It was pure and immaculate white. In that white world, there was only him. Somehow, it did not bother him; a white world was a thousand times better than the black world he was accustomed to living._

_"Why cannot we help them?" His own voice echoed._

_"Because, my little one, we don’t have how"_

_Nonna's voice, and then a cacophony of screams and laughter that shook him and made him embrace himself. The white world was beginning to fade into a sort of haze from which people came out with frightening smiles and weapons in their hands._

_He was afraid, his small body trembling as he watched as these people approached. Nevertheless, to his surprise, they walked past him without looking at him and continued their straight path to an older man who was behind. The mist began to cover everything and the white world turned gray._

_“Wait, please!”_

_Screams, screams, and screams. There were always screams._

_He put his hands on his ears, hoping to silence the sound with no result._

_They shouted something he could not understand._

_The gray world became black. Giotto was even more afraid._

_"Dad! Mom!" He screamed in terror, trying to see something in the blackness "Nonna!"_

_None of them answered; instead, more supplications of help filled the space and threatened to drive him crazy._

_"Enough! Please! Enough!"_

_The voices didn’t cease, the voices never ceased._

_"What are not the guards to avoid this sort of thing?" Again, his own voice spoke in the air._

_"Maybe it's the way it should be, but things are not always the way they should be, Giotto" Nonna's voice. Her voice was loaded with sadness and disappointment. She too was hurt for not be capable of help, he knew, but as she, he could not do something to stop it. "Sicily is like this, and there is nothing we can do to change it."_

_"There is nothing, there is nothing, there is nothing" repeated the other voices on a chilling echo._

“Since when is France on our side?”

_The sudden phrase broke the chorus of screams._

“For a year, have you forgotten? They are in a war against Austria.”

_The words seemed close and far away at the same time._

“Sure, because Austria has a lot to do with us here.”

“You complain about everything, Flora. Better shut up and keep working, they will not be long in coming with us.”

_They?_

The sound of something breaking abruptly made him wake up shocked.

Fearful, he looked everywhere without recognizing anything around him and not knowing where he was.

He almost expected to be again in the black world, but the soft sunlight that made his eyes narrowed confirmed it: all had been a nightmare. If it were not for that and because everything happened in the last two days settled furiously in his mind, perhaps it would have given him a nervous attack, would have screamed and run around in panic. Good luck it was not so.

Nonna had become seriously ill, he did not know of what or why, but it was palpable that she did not have much time to live. The visit of those people demanding the payment of the taxes had not helped her to overcome her discomfort and finally, she died yesterday morning. Desperate and scared, he had left the small hut where they lived and decided to go to the next city, Palermo, so that the collectors will not be angry with him and they will arrogate all the things that it had the building he had called "home" until that moment of his life. He ran all day and much of the night, but even so, he only managed to reach the border between Palermo and his city. Although, border or not, at least he reached his destination.

And there he was, in an unknown city, with unknown people in it and not knowing what to do or where to go.

Then, a noise. This time the sound he heard was like a knock, followed by little noises that resembled coins falling on the floor.

Slowly he pulled his head out and peered out to see what was going on. A few meters from him, a woman lay on the ground trembling with fear while a man, probably her husband, Giotto concluded, gave his face with a brave and resigned gesture as two big people frowned at him with a fist in what would be surely the house where the couple lives. At the feet of the four people, a few coins were scattered along with a small brown bag where they had been stored.

“But if this isn’t even 30%!” roared the biggest of the two men. His partner behind him seemed about pounce on the unlucky couple to beat them and demand full payment. To Giotto's infant eyes, those two boasters were as giants drawn from one of the tales his grandmother used to tell him before he fell asleep.

" _Campieri_ " (2) thought the boy with apprehension.

“I-I know. I’m sorry.”

“That will not pay the commission.”

"Give me a little more time. I'll pay, I will.”

“This is the third time you ask for time to pay, you know what that means, right?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I know" the man stammered a second time.

"He knows," said the other boaster with a grin on his face "He knows!" he let out a laugh, the people around him shivered visibly but continued pretending that they were very entertaining in their own affairs. "So, you understand what might happen. I'm sure that you don't want the Lord to come and request in person what he deserves for justice."

Giotto was not sure that the word "justice" was the best for the occasion, but it was not he could complain or debate about it.

"That will not be necessary!" he exclaimed quickly "I assure you, I will pay everything next time, with nothing missing!"

"I hope so, _Paolo_ (3), I hope so."

With the threat present in the air, the _campieri_ started their march back to the main estate from which they came. Giotto hurried back as far as he could, trying to camouflage himself in the shadows of the small space between two buildings in which he was. If that pair would see him, two things could happen: one, which they don't care and go their way as if what they saw was nothing more than a simple cockroach; or two, to be given a good beating for daring tread his boss's land without permission and drag him out of the place dying. The boy did not want to tempt fate, less after all that had happened, so it was best to try to hide.

Both _campieri_ passed without deigning to turn and the people's daily movements normalized. Two things represented Palermo: possess the richest part of Sicily and, consequently, the greatest violence of the state. As if Sicily alone was not violent already, Palermo took the jackpot.

He looked up again, noting how Paolo picked up along with the woman the few coins lying around them. Some had gone too far, so much so that Giotto could assure that they would not see it and give it for lost. Which actually happened and he noticed the woman's disillusioned and sad look along with the man's expression of exhaustion, caused him a prick in the chest.

Decided, he braced himself and ran to collect the few coins lay a short distance from where he was. Whether be or not the number the _campieri_ requested, no one liked to lose what little he had.

"Excuse me," he said in a whisper as he approached the duo, who had jumped at the sound of his trembling voice. "I believe this is yours."

Giotto opened his hands and showed the four coins he could find. The man looked him in amazement before giving him a small but sincere smile.

“Thank you.”

Paolo had to thank. Not one would have returned it, and if he was sincere, he did not believe anyone had.

It was at that moment when he paid more attention to see whom the person in front of him was that Paolo's heart shrank. What he saw was a little boy about seven-eight years, his clothes were broken, dirty and wet, his hair ruffled full of debris and his eyes swollen as if he had been crying for a long time ago. If that entire, one added that his face had certain red dyes with a definite fever he would have contracted without noticing it by the use of his drenched clothes, the child gave a pitiful aspect. Even more than anyone in the city.

"What's your name?" He asked still with the smile on his face. This time the boy seemed to him so fragile that he thought he would vanish at any moment and by any touch.

"Giotto" he replied without thinking. Maybe he would not have answered if someone else had asked him, but at that moment, he felt no danger or any bad feeling that would tell him it was wrong to say his identity. He had learned, somehow, to trust his instincts.

“Giotto” Paolo repeated. “You aren’t from here, right? I don’t remember seeing you before.”

This time, the boy tensed visibly and was about to run for fear by thinking he had been wrong to judge that person so quickly, and the man would surely call the campieri. He did not want to be beaten; rather, he did not want to be hit again. It hurts; it hurts a lot and someone as weak as he could never defend himself, not even of the children of his own age.

" _This world is cruel, abusive and lonely, my dear_ " It resounded in his head again.

"Easy," he said, noting the nervousness that had appeared in the infant. "It was a simple question. It is weird seeing someone of your age alone. Unless, of course, you are really with a relative and I haven't noticed.”

"I'm not from here. That's true" he replied doubtfully, avoiding answering the other question about being alone.

"Where do you live?" He asked interestedly as he stood up. His wife, beside him, imitated the gesture without taking her eyes off the boy in front of her. Known it was that she loved the kids, and see one so mistreated made her have a strong tightness in the stomach. Even more, because she was sure that, with good care, the child's features would look better and reveal more clearly those peculiar eyes and hair he had.

"I ..." he stopped at the beginning of the sentence. He shook his head from side to side, making sure that people did not pay attention to him and there was no other authority to fear. He had learned badly that it was best not say certain things in the presence of certain people "I lived in the near town."

"Lived?" Now it was the young woman’s turn to speak. Giotto nodded his head, looking away at the floor. Her sweet tone reminded him Nonna's voice. "Now, where do you live?"

"I don't know."

Paolo noticed sincerity in the answer, so he spoke again.

"Don’t you know?"

"Nonna died and I came here running from the collectors of my city," he muttered softly. A few seconds passed before the young couple could fully understand the meaning of the words.

"Oh, poor angel!" exclaimed concerned the woman, trying control the impulse she had to go and embrace the small one in front of her. Her heart was especially weak when it came from children. For his part, Paolo wiped the smile on his face.

"You have nowhere to go," he said in a statement. Giotto answered with a sad silence, confirmed the words. Paolo turned to see his wife and she nodded in acceptance to the unspoken question reflected in her husband's eyes.

They were poor; they did not have to pay the commissions and barely managed eat. He was not sure that with them it was the best place a child could aspire to be, but that did not fix the situation. In addition, he was a kindness man as not leave alone a child who had suddenly seen himself without any endorsement. If to them, the old people, the world was difficult, he did not imagine how rude and cruel would be to someone infant and lonely.

Bah, he would somehow manage pay what he owed. A life was more important than saving money to give everything to the aristocrats’ accursed clown.

"Giotto" Paolo said, taking the small hands that still had the coins found between his own; the little boy looked at him confused as he tilted his head. "Will you come with us?"

He wondered if the sudden brightness in the kid's eyes had been for tears. Well, if it is for happiness, then there is no problem.

* * *

 

_"Why is the house near the outskirts so big compared to all the others?"_

_"My dear Giotto, that's because it's the Lord's house."_

_"Lord?" he asked without understanding "So if you grown-up you will have a huge house?"_

_Her grandmother laughed at his comment. There was no doubt that childhood was the time of innocence, and he hoped her grandson could enjoy a little more of it._

_"No, no Giotto. When I say, Lord, I mean the owner of these lands."_

_"Owner? What the owners weren't those people in fancy dress and beautiful speech?"_

_Gioretti (4) smiled at the boy's description of the aristocrats. No one who knew them would refer to them that way, but it only confirmed to her that the little one was of good heart. She expected him to continue with this while growing up._

_"Yes, they are the original owners. But these people lend the land to others for work, and these, in turn, have us to do that work."_

_The little boy frowned, but Gioretti knew that it was more out of disagreement to understand the position so down where they were on the social ladder. Giotto was an infant, but not a fool._

_"Oh..." he said quietly "I suppose that they are the ones that have to be called gaba ... gaba .."_

_"Gabelloti (5)" Gioretti completed the sentence._

_“Yes! Gabelloti!”_

* * *

The memory came to his mind almost instantly when he heard some people talk about how "cruel" the current _Gabellote_ was with regard the tax rate he was charging. Giotto just hoped no one outside of him would have heard that otherwise, the pair of women would be in serious trouble.

It was not surprising to learn that many of the aforementioned _Gabelloti_ made deals with thieves. At first, it was supposed to formalize some "peace" that the government and the aristocrats could not achieve, but soon it had become a cycle of threats and extortions. It would not be the first time someone "accidentally" died in an ambush with criminals after they heard him speak against the Lord of the lands. It was good to mention that several of the _campieri_ used to be such people.

Giotto sighed heavily. Knowing all and still not being able to do something to change it frustrated him. However, he was a seven-year-old whose relatives were dead; a person in such conditions would never be able to do anything. Well, to be honest, hardly anyone would be able to do something. The fairy tales where a masterful hero saved everyone were not real life, he realized that too soon.

As he continued to walk behind Paolo and his wife, Giotto kept looking everywhere and trying listening to the conversations. It was not that he wanted to break the people's intimacy, but the more he knew the city, more would be easier to survive.

Thus, he noticed a constant use of a certain word he had barely heard a couple of times in his previous neighborhood. One that, he discovered, people seemed to use a lot to refer the Gabelloti of the city and his Campiere. As if it were a keyword the high cribs could not understand but the low class did, and in that way, you could talk about everything you wanted without fear of future reprisals. At first, Giotto himself did not know what they meant whenever they mentioned it, but after listening more carefully, it was not very difficult to find out whom they were talking.

The word came from an acronym (he heard it called, it was when he thought for a long time that he discovered the meaning of "acronym"). The phrase was simple and direct. The phrase that lately made echoes in his head and with which he had dreamed that morning.

" _Mazzini Autorizza Furti, Incendi, Avvelenamenti_ " (6)

If you put the first letters together, you formed a word.

" ** _Mafia_** "

He realized that this term seemed to define a new type of people and organization. After all, the Gabelloti were neither high nor low class; even to some extent one could say that they somehow took advantage of both classes. When his parents lived, he had heard that a Gabellote had succeeded in blackmailing the aristocrats who has entrusted his property to him. That, there in Sicily and elsewhere in the world, was something surprising.

Giotto was relatively happy to have a new word in his vocabulary. Although, in some way, the word turned out to be bitter.

* * *

 

" _Ghinizelli_ " he repeated. Paolo nodded in agreement it had been correctly said " _Ambizio Ghinizelli_. That's the Gabellote's name."

In the last half hour, Paolo and his wife had explained him the functioning of the city. He realized that it was not much different from how things were done in his past house, whether this for better or for worse. The only thing that did change was that people tended to rebel more.

That, therefore, indicated a higher number of deaths.

"And he has a son. _Giovanni Ghinizelli_ " the couple nodded again.

Giotto thought it curious that a Gabellote had a son. Of those he had heard, none of them had any family.

"How old is he?" he asked curiously.

"Nobody knows exactly. But to me, for being capable of handle a gun perfectly, I don't think he's exactly a child" Paolo replied with a slight shudder. He had never liked guns, these weapons were capable of killing incredibly easy, all you had to do was pull the trigger and someone's life disappeared.

"Actually" his wife continued, once more assured that no one could hear them. She used a curious tone of a secret that caught Giotto's attention. "I've heard that indeed, it's a child. About your age, Giotto" for what she said, the little one could not help but tilt his head and wince. That did not sound cute at all.

"A child who can handle a gun?" Paolo shook his head, disappointed. "If that's true, I don't think I ever wanted to meet him. And less when he grows up."

"What if he isn't really bad?" Giotto said, earning a strange look from Paolo and his wife. "I mean, if no one knows for sure who he is, I don't think he is exactly proud of his blood" the adult couple paid more attention to his words, and that gave him encouragement to continue "Also ... I don't know, maybe they forced him to learn how to use a weapon or something like that. Coming from the Gabelloti, nothing is surprising."

Paolo admitted that he had a point.

"Why do you think that?"

Giotto shrugged, not knowing what answer.

"Intuition, perhaps?" he commented a little nervous "Not all people who seem to be bad are, no one chooses where to be born and the circumstances. At least that was what nonna said."

"Your grandmother was very wise, Giotto" Marie, Paolo's wife, said with a smile. The boy returned the gesture with a blink of pride.

* * *

 

He had to run, run, and run. Escape, flee, escape, and flee. If they caught up, he would be dead.

When a bullet brushed his cheek making a cut, he cursed his father by a millionth time and his filthy corrupt dealings. He cursed his last name. He cursed his family.

When he turned back, raising his pistol and firing on a perfect hit that struck one of his pursuers, he cursed himself.

Good people did not know how to use a weapon. Good people did not shoot others. Good people did not kill.

Therefore, he was not a good person. That, it hurts in the depths of his soul.

He spun around, into one of the small streets between the buildings, and ran on to everything his legs gave him. He could not leave his house without a bunch of annoying citizens chasing him and threatening to kill him. Though he does not blame them, they had their reasons for hating him; after all, he was the son of the person in charge of his torture.

He should just let himself killed and end everything. Maybe that way, his father would learn the lesson. But even with that thought in mind, he kept running. Because despite denying it repeatedly, he did not want to die. A primitive instinct inside him shouted he must live.

Therefore, he ran spinning and turning. He would be lost, he knew, but he did not care now.

He only wanted live.

* * *

 _(1) "Grandmother"_  
 _(2) "Campieri" is the plural of "Campiere". They were guards in the service of a "Gabellote" (for more information on them, move to number 5) to protect livestock, property, equipment and control peasants. The Campieri could be people who used to do vandalism, of course, not all of them, but it is something that must be taken into account._  
 _(3) "Paolo" is a character mentioned in episode 308 of the manga, in the first memory of Giotto and Cozart given to the Vongola and Shimon in Inheritance Ceremony Arc._  
 _(4) Italian Name. It is in honor to "Santa Maria_ Gioretti _". I thought it was a nice name for Giotto's grandmother._  
 _(5) "Gabelloti" plural of "Gabellote". Its name comes from the word "Gabella" which refers to a tax or fee in the form of payment required. These people functioned as an intermediary between the aristocracy and the peasants. They managed the properties of the aristocrats and obtained in return a percentage of goods, in addition, to increase their profits they divided the lands into small areas and leased them to the peasants, who also granted them a percentage of the earnings. When they gained more power, they extorted the peasants, appropriated land improperly and organized groups of thieves. At the same time, they managed the supply of food in the cities, which allowed them to carry out extortion in the market._  
 _(6) Means, "Mazzini authorizes robberies, fires, and poisonings". To what they refer to this phrase, I will explain it in the next chapters._

_Thank you for reading. What did you think of this first chapter?_   
_I decided to settle everything in Sicily, an island in southern Italy that has always be characterized by its high rates of violence, especially in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In addition, is where the concept "mafia" originates for the first time, in the mid-nineteenth century too. Today, the Sicilian mafia is one of the strongest and most famous. Unlike other states of Italy, Sicily, still in the 1800s, remained feudal, and this meant there was much exploitation by the upper class towards the lower class. Yep, everything narrated here has its historical data. Hey, I want to do things right!_   
_The war between Austria, France, and Italy that is mention is also real. More details will be revealed later (?)_   
_A mistake? Please, feel be free to point it._   
_That is it; I hope you enjoyed it and see you next time._


	3. La Tempesta I

_Note: Italics is form thoughts and memories._

* * *

 

**_Chapter II:_ **

**_“La Tempesta”_ **

**_“Part I”_ **

_The first time he touched a gun, his hand shook. Perhaps it would have been much easier to hold it if he had not seen what was done with it, or rather what they wanted him to do with it._

_"D-dad? W-why? "_

_"I do not want complaints of any kind" his father was ahead of what he was going to say as if he could read his thoughts "It's for your safety. You will learn to use it, there is no excuse. "_

_There was no reason to be valid, there was nothing to save him. Neither at that moment nor a near future._

_"Go with the Campieri. Learn how things are done here."_

_"B-but sir! The young master is barely a child and- "the voice of his Nanny was cut brutally, being replaced by the resounding echo of the young woman being hit so hard that she fell backward to the ground. With her hand covering her aching cheek where she had received the blow from his master, she looked at him with pity; to him, to the poor child who could not escape his futile destiny._

_"Any objection?"_

_"No sir" was the only thing he heard before being pushed by his father's hand towards the exit door._

_The first time he pulled the trigger, it was not just his hand that shook, but his whole body. The sound of the bullet when firing visited him in dreams for several days; but instead of consolation, he only found the sly smile of his father._

_"Well done. Keep it up, Giovanni"_

_Please, that his father doesn't call him like that. He liked his name, it was the name his mother gave him. Please, do not fill that name with bloodstains. Please, please._

_"You, wretch!"_

_Please._

_"Abusive!"_

_Why? Why did that happen?_

_If only his father was not that way. If only others realized that he did not want to be in that position, would there be any difference?_

_"Look, is not that kid his son?"_

_He was only the son Ghinizelli. Only that._

_"Have you heard it? He used a weapon against those poor people! He'll be as damned as his father! "_

_No, he did not want that to happen._

_"How is it that he has a child? As far as I know, that accurst doesn't have a wife"_

_"Come on, man, you know that you only need a little passion, an unhappy young woman, and that's it! We have a bastard on the way. "_

_Stop talking._

_Please, stop talking._

_"Hahaha! Then what about << Bastard Ghinizelli >> fits him like a glove, in more ways than one! "_

_Shut up._

_"Bastard Ghinizelli. Yes, it sounds pretty good"_

_Shut up._

_"Hey, brat! Don’t feel so sad, I promise, soon you will see your mother again! "_

_Shut up. Shut up_

_"Bastard Ghinizelli!"_

"Shut up!"

At that moment he woke up.

His breathing was irregular, he was sweating, trembling and his fists were tightly closed around the thin sheet that was on top of him. It was hard for him to calm down and discover that it had only been a nightmare, like the many he was used to having. A few seconds passed and, with a simple look at the stage in front of him, his body tensed instinctively. He was not in his room, he was not at home. Where was he then? And more importantly, how and why?

The memories of the last hour (last minutes for him, before he fell into a state of unconsciousness) collided in his mind, so strong and overwhelming.

He remembered. He was escaping. He was running away.

It was the usual thing when he came out without the protection of the mastodons of the Campieri, which, to the chagrin of everyone in the farm where he lived, was very often. And somehow the people around always seemed to know who he was and saw the perfect opportunity to get revenge. Unfortunately for them, when it came to escaping issues he was pretty good.

Or at least he was until he encountered with an ambush with more than five people.

Well, the first part of the situation recreated. But, then what?

"Are you feeling better?"

And fuck, that reverend scare. He jumped so hard he even fell off the bed where he was and gave a little cry. The hard floor greeted him as his mind reproached him for being so stupid that he had not noticed that there was someone else in the room.

"Sorry! Did I scared you?" the little voice asked in a clear tone of concern "Ah, sorry again! What a silly question, of course, I scared you."

" _You don’t have to repeat it, genius."_ He thought to himself sullenly.

He clicked his tongue in an evident gesture of frustration and looked up to start shouting the thousands of insults he had in mind to the person next to him, but his voice seemed to disappear as soon as his eyes caught the face of his companion.

"Sorry" he repeated again "It wasn't my intention, how do you feel?"

A kid. Perhaps of the same age, looked at him with caution but sincere interest in his current state. He had a funny, spiky hair that was bright blond; however, that was not what drew more attention in him, but his eyes.

They were oranges. A warm and comforting orange.

Like the one he saw before fainting.

* * *

 

_It hurts._

_It hurts, and too much._

_He felt how he was losing sensitivity in his arm, how his right eye was throbbing, how his abdomen seemed to scream every time he moved, warning him that he was not well and surely had more than a few broken bones there._

_How had he let the others take him by surprise? How did he not notice them? He paid for that with interest. He had been stripped of his weapon and held between the five or six they were (not that he was counting at the time), after that, they began to hit his stomach and face. At first, he resisted it well, not for nothing had already gone through something similar a few times before, but began to be scared when he noticed the knife in the hand of a man who, with fun, gave him a huge smile. What he felt before miraculously hitting him in the face with a kick, was the edge on the flesh of his left arm and something hot dripping on it._

_He would be lying if he said he had never bled before, but at least he had not done so because of cold steel. At that moment pure adrenaline ran through his body and God will know where he got the strength to free himself with kicks, bites and other stuff. He was not sure if he had also grabbed his gun from the ground and fired it, his vision was somewhat blurry; the only thing he had in mind was to get out of there as quickly as possible._

_He heard screams behind him, he passed close to people who, although they did not help those men to catch him, did not help him either. He did not blame them, who in their right mind would? Even if they saved him, his father would not believe what they said and would surely kill his saviors._

_He kept running, and running, and running. He kept doing it even when he no longer felt someone following him, it only mattered to get as far away from his home as possible. When he realized it, he was almost on the border of Palermo and the sky was beginning to get dark. And he felt bad, and he was alone._

_He did not know when it was that he dropped by the corner of a smelly street, seeing how his badly wounded arm had left a small path of blood that in the morning would be easy enough to identify. Che, it would even have been easy to follow and find him with that for a long time; luck to him that his pursuers did not have much brain in his head._

_The seconds kept running, the minutes, maybe the hours._

_He felt weaker and weaker._

_Disgustingly weak._

_So much so, that when he managed to hear some small steps that stopped near him, he did not have the strength to move. If someone wanted to kill him, it was the perfect moment; he would not fight any battle._

_But instead of murderous intentions, instead of the smiling face of cruel satisfaction that he waiting to find, he found a glimmer of concern in what felt like an orange sky._

_And then, darkness._

* * *

"I think I hear wrong, can you repeat what you said?"

The big man swallowed, visibly nervous. He knew that behind that calm tone that seemed to express his boss, was the potential to send him to kill if he wanted. Ex-convict or not, with the abilities that the Lord possessed and all the support of men that he had, could not equal him.

He cursed that little monster Giovanni for the millionth time.

"We haven't found him, sir," he repeated without signs of trembling in his voice, which he was grateful for.

"You have not found him" Mr. Ghinizelli echoed his own response "Although he has been missing for almost two days, you have not found him"

He did not like the way the conversation was taking.

"We have searched through all the streets of the city, perhaps with too much detail, people are beginning to suspect."

Ambizio Ghinizelli did not stop smiling when he answered with a cold voice:

" _Ingannare_ " (1)

The blow he struck with his fist on the table after that, made the other man feel awkwardly uncomfortable.

"If he isn't on the streets, look at the houses, it does not matter what people think. If they bother you, just give them a lesson and that's it" he said with that cold mask of joy "Giovanni is a child but he's not a fool enough to leave Palermo, he has to be somewhere."

It did not take him a second to obey that order and to leave with long strides from his boss's office. He usually did not have to complain and rarely regretted having made the decision to have joined Ghinizelli; being with him he could have enough luxuries, have fun with the poor unhappy of the lower class and even be present at certain events of the aristocracy.

A paradise. Or at least it would be if a certain insolent brat accepted who he was.

If they asked him, he did not understand why Ambizio was so interested in his son learning to be like him. Although, for a long time that "family ties" seemed to be very present in various parts of the country causing a series of groups that protected each other to avoid abuse, he did not understand why high-level people like the gabelloti or even the same aristocracy gave such importance to blood, family and other stupidities, at least to his point of view. It is not as if he was interested to know, as long as he continued with his current life, the high class could do what they pleased.

That took him back to the point. Giovanni.

As long as that child did not understand the position he was in, he could not continue to enjoy his paradise.

He smiled at a certain mental scene that appeared in his head. No matter how perceptive Ambizio was, he did not think he will notice the differences between blows from an enraged peasant and his own blows on Giovanni's body.

If the brat did not want to learn for the good, then it would have to be for the bad, right?

* * *

 

"You could stop looking at me like if I going to bite you or something like that. It's somewhat uncomfortable, you know."

Giotto did not receive any response unless looking at him in more detail as if he was a ghost was interpreted as one. Well, at least the child had been encouraged to eat the piece of bread that he had brought him; not without first inspecting it as if it were poisoned, but something was something.

Before another silence was accentuated between the two, the little blonde spoke again hoping to hear a word come from the mouth of his partner.

"I'm glad you woke up. You had been asleep for a while and I started to get scared."

The boy, who after his fall had returned to sit on the bed, changed his penetrating red gaze to one of curiosity and Giotto took that as a sign to follow.

"You can't imagine the shock you gave me!" He commented with a smile "I almost got my heart out, especially when you just fainted at the time of seeing me. You were pretty bad, you should be more careful, because of what I know, here-"

"Why?"

Giotto blinked, confused. He expected him to interrupt to say something, but not that.

"Sorry?"

"Why did you help me? You don’t gain anything with doing it"

"Do you need to earn something to help someone?"

Now it was the turn of the other child to look at him confused. The logic that followed the blond did not seem to match that of the rest of the world, even with his own.

"You're weird," he said almost instantly, not caring that it sounded something abrupt. Especially coming from him, the person saved.

He felt disoriented again when the blonde laughed with joy. Seriously, where was that kid supposed to come from? Or rather, what the hell was he?

"Since I arrive, all the person don't stop telling me that," he said laughingly.

"Since you arrived?" Giotto tensed a little with the question but nodded in confirmation gesture "You're not from here"

Well, that explained some things. Surely he came from other cities better protected, or even states. Sardinia (3), maybe; only there were people crazy enough to risk themselves for others.

"I lived in the city that is a day and a half walk from here. I have not been in Palermo for long, two days, with this three."

Okay, to the devil his inner explanation. It was totally wrong.

"Are you kidding? I already thought you were from Sardinia!" He mentioned with amusement and a vague shadow of enthusiasm. Perhaps the other had infected him a little of his good humor.

Giotto smiled.

"Wouldn't be bad. Although I doubt that someone like me had to pay for a trip by ship."

The other boy, without understanding, looked more at the child in front of him and noticed many things that he had not noticed because he was more focused on seeing that he had no bad intentions or some hidden weapon to kill him. The blonde had several scrapes on his face, on his hands and he did not doubt that it was also on his legs; her hair looked tangled and her clothes were worn.

He was not a high-class boy as he initially thought, but quite the opposite. Again, he mentally scolded himself for not paying attention to the things that really mattered.

Noticing the change of countenance in him, Giotto hurried to intervene.

"But nothing happens!" He said with a nervous smile "I'm glad you think so highly of me, although unfortunately, it isn't like that. Here in Palermo I have met several nice people, they even let me help them with their homework and they give me money" the other child looked at him attentively and curiously "That's where I bought the-"

Giotto managed to silence himself before finishing the sentence, but by the expression that put his companion, he knew that he had understood what he was going to say. " _That's where I bought the bread"_

"Are you telling me you haven’t eaten anything for giving it to me?" He asked with an accusing tone. Giotto cringed in the chair where he was sitting.

"I'm used to not eating much, there's no problem" he tried to justify himself.

"No problem my spawn of a father!" he shouted, "How do you think of doing that?!"

"You shouldn't talk like that about your father."

"Don't change the subject!"

Giotto answered nothing, causing a heavy silence to settle between them. The blond did not know what to say, should he apologize? Keep quiet? Wait for him to speak?

What should he do now? Something similar had never happened to him. Well, it was not that he had many years of life.

"Thank you"

"Huh?" Giotto released in reflection. His partner sighed, made a small grimace and turned his eyes away before speaking again.

"T-thanks. I'll pay you somehow"

Giotto shook his head, a new smile drawn on his face.

"It isn't necessary."

"But of course it is, idiot!" he shouted again, as a result, the blond gave a little jump in his chair. Okay, his new acquaintance seemed to like to scream "J-just tell me what you want, I'll give it to you!"

Giotto thought for a few moments, with the other's eyes on him. Then, he smiled even bigger and put his hands together as a sign of a decision.

"What is it?" he asked a little hesitantly. He just hoped he would not come out with anything out of the ordinary or impossible to do. It would not be the first time something like this happened to him.

"Your name" the blond sentenced with security. The other child blinked stunned.

"What?"

"Your name" Giotto repeated softly "We have been here together for the last half hour and I only know that you are a child with light red hair and eyes that seem to have a peculiar character. Also, I would like to speak to you by your name, for that it exists, isn't it?"

It sounded simple. He wishes he could say it without any problem.

But he could not, or rather he did not want to. Maybe the blonde had just arrived, but he was sure that he already knew his name and that of his family at that point. If he found out who he was, he might not react as well as he had been doing, and for some time now he wished he could talk to someone without the weight of his name.

Giotto cocked his head, waiting for the answer as if he were a puppy waiting for his food.

"What's yours?" he asked instead of answering.

"True! How discourteous of me" the blond said laughing "My name is Giotto."

"Giotto?" the mentioned one nodded "Gentle Ruler ..."

"Gentle Ruler?" Well, the blonde felt as if his talk was a kind of mirror. One answered in the form of a question to what the other said.

 "It's what your name means. Gentle Ruler" the boy replied with a half-smile. Giotto's eyes widened in surprise.

"How do you know that?" he questioned with a strange emotion "It's not a lie, right? I didn't know that my name had a meaning!"

"Hey, I don't lie" he answered crossing his arms in a childish gesture of pride "My father forces me to learn certain things, some boring, and others interesting."

"It doesn't sound bad. I like it" mentioned Giotto more to himself than to his companion. "Gentile Ruler," he was sure that his grandmother knew that meaning when she gave him the name.

" _Grazie, nonna_ ," he thought with a small twinge of pain in his chest.

"My name also starts with G ..." said the red-haired, doubtful. Giotto jumped from the chair where he was and stood in front of him, with a smile from ear to ear.

"Seriously?" The other nodded in response, Giotto laughed happily "Amazing! It's like we're connected or something, don't you think?"

He felt a strange twist in his stomach, and he was sure it was not because of the injuries he had. With that carefree and happy attitude of the other, now, even if he did not admit it, he was more afraid of his reaction if he discovered who he was. But he did not want to break his word either.

 _Giotto_ not only had the initial letter, but also the same first syllable as his name and interestingly, the pronunciation of the letter itself.

Then, it occurred to him.

"G" The blond looked at him confused. The redhead returned a smirk "My name is G."

* * *

 

"So, do you have to be hooded every time you go out?" G asked following his step. Giotto nodded.

"Paolo told me that it was better to go out like this for a while, my hair is something ... striking" he acknowledged with a slight pout.

"Tell me" snorted G.

Usually, anyone would be suspicious of a pair of hooded persons, but when those persons were children, they did not care, since it was surely just a game of infants. Or at least that's how most people saw it.

After its official presentation (with a Giotto who kept repeating that his name was strangely great, just like its owner - which, although he did not admit it made him feel good -) G had bombarded the blonde with a series of questions about the place where he lives and again, because he had thought of doing something as crazy as rescuing a stranger who was dying in the middle of the street.

He listened attentively to the small crossing that his current companion had gone through, and with that his stomach turned horribly, hating the fact that somehow he had to do with all that system of abuse that was lived in Sicily. He held on not to vomit because, after all, Giotto had sacrificed his own money to give him that piece of bread.

Through the narration, he met Paolo and his wife, who were responsible that he has somewhere to sleep and the opportunity to stay in Palermo. Although G, intrigued, had asked why he did not live directly with them instead of being in the small shed next to the couple's house.

Giotto surprised him again with his response.

_"I don’t want to get them in trouble"_

_"Why do you say that?"_

_"If the Campieri find out I'm here, it will not go well. And Paolo and Marie will also suffer for it."_

_G looked at him horrified._

_"But why?"_

_"It's as if I was stealing. I don't pay taxes, and being here means an unplanned expense whose money doesn't come back to the government. That's how things work."_

_"That's how things work," G thought bitterly._

That little conversation was enough for G to ask Giotto to accompany him to the city, work with him and thus he will pay him what he had spent.

_"But G! You gave me what I asked for in return!"_

_"A name will not give you back what you've earned, Giotto"_

_"It was just bread ..."_

_G frowned, clearly annoyed._

_"Don't think of me like an idiot. I understand enough to know that my wounds didn't 'heal by magic"_

_"But you're still hurt!"_

_"Was there a broken bone? One of importance?"_

_Giotto hesitated a moment._

_"You have a pair of broken ribs."_

_"Even with that, I can move enough."_

_"G!"_

After a small argument that G won, Giotto accepted - albeit reluctantly - that G help him with the small tasks with which he earned money.

Before leaving, G asked him if by chance he had something to cover his head with. His hair was too flashy, and he was sure that, even on the banks of Palermo, there might be someone who recognized him.

And if that happened, he did not even want to think about the serious problems he would put his little savior in.

Giotto had laughed and shown him the hood he was going to wear to get out. And it so happened that Marie had given him other, resulting in two - one that he brought from his previous home and the one she had kindly given him. G ended up laughing with Giotto, amused by the interesting coincidences that seemed to surround them.

"Sure you're okay?" the redhead rolled his eyes, with that it was the fourth time Giotto had asked him that on the way.

"How cruel you are G!" Giotto said with pretended pain. G could not help smiling; it seems that today was the day where he would break his record of sincere smiles "Look, we're here! It's there!"

Giotto walked a few more steps to a stop in front of a place that seemed relatively good. G stopped behind him.

A young man turned, and when he recognized the child, he received him with a smirk.

"Giotto!" he exclaimed happily "Are you coming for another small assignment?"

The blonde nodded cheerfully.

"And this time I brought someone else who wants to cooperate. I hope it doesn't cause much trouble, Franco" (4).

Franco looked past the little blonde and found G's face, who, despite his sorrow and strangeness, felt somewhat embarrassed.

"More hands to help, for my more than good" the man commented satisfied.

"But be careful. He is a bit hurt, "Giotto said in a low voice as if it were a secret. To his bad luck, G heard him and sent him a look of death, to which the blond laughed.

"Ignore him. I can move easily" he objected, Franco ended up releasing a small laugh.

"Did you already know?" the voice of a lady a few meters from them caught the attention of the redhead, mostly because of the tone of concern that seemed to emanate from the words "It seems that Ghinizelli is bringing something big into his hands, I heard that the campieri are acting strangely under his direct orders."

G tensed immediately. Only the mention of the Ghinizelli surname made him tremble in anticipation.

"Do something happen? G" Giotto asked noticing immediately the sudden rigidity of his companion. He was glad that at that moment Franco had gone into his room to start reviewing the tasks in which they could help him.

G did not answer, just continued listening to the conversation as if his life depended on it. And maybe, somehow it really was like that.

"Since yesterday they seemed to search for something, especially in the streets. What could be?" talked another woman.

"Maybe someone stole him?"

"That person is a fool then!"

"You are wrong, nobody stole anything" a third female voice intervened "I heard this from my husband, so don't tell anyone that these words came out of my mouth."

G supposed that the other two women made a gesture of affirmation since after a few seconds the same voice rang again.

"He told me that on the afternoon of two days ago, he saw Giovanni Ghinizelli escape a group of thugs who were chasing him" the other women made a surprise sound.

In his part, G felt his heart stop.

"How? So what are they looking for ...?”

 "It's the son. What a horror..."

The boy might have fainted at that moment if it was not because he felt some hands on his shoulders that pulled him out of the trance he had gotten into.

"You're pale. Better let's see some doctor" Giotto looked at him with determination. He was not sure how he was going to pay another medical consultation, as he had already owed a lot to the previous one, but somehow he would manage it.

"Are you crazy? I will not let you keep spending more!" reprimanded he, recovering the forces that had vanished before that conversation between women so disastrous for him.

"You seem on the verge of collapse, I will not leave you like that!"

"Something happens?" before G could object, Franco came back and looked at the pair of children with worried eyes.

"Nothing. I just got distracted for a moment" the red-haired one responded quickly. Giotto looked at him with disgust "What do we have to do?"

In the end, the blond decided to leave things as they were; but if he saw that his friend - it did not matter that they did not take much to know each other, he was his friend - got a little worse, he would not hesitate to take him to the nearest doctor. Franco gave them a small glance before opening the door to their premises and beginning to explain the various tasks in which he asked for help.

Luck for G that he was accustomed to unconsciously pay attention to what other said, if not, he was sure that everything Franco had said was lost due to the entangled thoughts that were his mind at that time.

But of course, how did not occur him that they were looking for him? That if he did not return, they would let him free. He had to go back quickly, otherwise...

" _Otherwise I will involve Giotto_ " he thought, not without a certain panic that ran through his body.

The blonde had already done enough for him, he did not want to get him in trouble.

After all, he was Giovanni Ghinizelli, son of the gabelloti and whom the campieri were looking for.

* * *

 

_(1) Literally, "imbecile" in Italian._

_(2) "Understood?"_

_(3) Sardinia is an island in Italy. It was of great importance in the Italian Unification (between 1852 to 1861) and is still currently an autonomous region of the country._

_(4) This name appeared in the manga, in the second memory of Giotto and Cozart in the Arch of the Succession Ceremony._

_Hello!_

_Well, what do you think of the chapter? I hope its ok. As always, I tell if you see some grammatical or narrative mistake, feel free to tell me._

_See you again in the next chapter!_

_Atte: ElenaMisaScarlet_


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